Like Glass
by Alyssa Keserra
Summary: When Valera quits after she realises the writers are really messing her around, the Miami DNA lab is left in shambles grrrrrrr Boa Vista, and who would be better to save the day than everyone's favourite exlab rat? hinthint it's Greg
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't know why I'm doing this. I'm not even 100 sure a bunny even exists here. I'm no longer the reliable person I once was and my schedule is insane. I also feel that crossovers aren't exploited as much as they should be.

However I do live off comments, and where muse is lacking; comments are motivation. hint-hint

If when this story is finally complete… the title doesn't make any sense, I'm terribly sorry. I'm just incapable of leaving it as 'Untitled' 'til an amazing title hits me if it ever will.

On a completely different note, Sean Maher is hot.

* * *

"I want you to know Greg, this is completely up to you, no obligations. You don't have to do it if you don't want to." Grissom said looking up at the younger CSI standing by his desk. Greg stared back at him slightly blankly and for a long moment, Grissom couldn't help but wonder if Greg had understood a word he'd said. He watched as Greg shifted slightly, rolling up on to the balls of his feet before settling back down again. His gaze moved upwards to somewhere above Grissom's head, but his face remained emotionless.

"Greg?" Grissom said, eyebrows raised in uncertainty, "you don't have to give an answer right now, but I need to know by the end of the week." He looked back down at his paperwork and continued to fill out number 3 of the 8 identical forms. Greg turned slowly and walked out of the office, carefully closing the door behind him. Grissom watched his youngest CSI leave, eyes narrowed with concern, maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

-----

Four hours later when Grissom left his office to go home, he was made certain that he'd definitely made the wrong decision. In the empty morning hours when the lab was at its quietest and employees were hard to come by, Greg Sanders was standing outside what was once his lab. A hand almost pressed up against the glass door, but not quite touching it; eyes looking into the room, but not quite seeing it.

Grissom hated moments like these, he wasn't a psychiatrist and neither emotion nor communication were his forte. He found himself standing next to his CSI trying not to seem expectant, he needed a signal, a sign to tell him what to do, which direction to take, what pace to go. Gil Grissom was not a people's person. Unfortunately Greg was acting as if though his presence hadn't even been noticed and Grissom wished he'd just lash out, scream, shout, smash the glass, cry even, something, anything that he could respond to.

"I'll go."

"What?" Grissom found himself caught off-guard by the comment and its normalcy.

"I'll go," Greg said more fluidly now, his hand now actually coming into contact with the door, "I mean what reason do I have not to? This," he indicated the lab with his free hand, "this is nothing, it's stupid, I'm being idiotic. I'll go. It'll be good to get away."

The very basic knowledge of psychiatry he had accumulated over his years screamed at him to disagree, keep him here, keep him close, he couldn't afford to lose a CSI anyway. Greg was still too young, too naïve, too sheltered for the world.

"Hey Grissom! Don't worry about it! I'll be able to catch up on my surfing!"

"Greg."

"You know, sometimes I feel I've lived my whole life in this lab... I was so young," he whispered wistfully opening the door and walking in, "so young." Grissom stood at the doorway and watched as Greg went further in, hands sweeping over familiar worktops, machinery, bottles, almost as if captivated. Greg stopped in the middle of the room, surveying it carefully, noticing the changes and then ignoring them, he took in a deep breath of strong lab air before he continued, "this is all I've ever known you know? I was so young, so free, and then I was here every night and even in the days when I was at home I was here and then, and then you know I'm here, now and I have nothing."

Grissom shifted uncomfortably at the repetition of the words 'you know', what was it that Greg wanted? A connection? A similarity? Understanding that he just didn't have? 'I don't know' he wanted to say 'but if you hold on a moment, I can ring Nick' he almost laughed, what an American sitcom comment. "You're still young," he said instead, probably the most inadequate response possible.

Greg's face split into a light grin at that and he chuckled slightly, "where have my six years gone?" he asked, the regretful tone still not gone. He pulled down the plastic board and uncapped a marker pen, 'GREG WAS HERE' he wrote in block graffiti style before turning back to Grissom. "Will you remember me? If I were to die tomorrow, would you remember me?"

Grissom gave him a slightly horrified look, where had he left the number for the psychiatrist? He cursed his lack of articulacy, wanting nothing more than to explain that of all the people in the lab, Greg was the most memorable, the one who turned everything inside-out, upside down and still managed to come out on top, the one who made everyone laugh, the one who linked the lab and the field, the one who everyone wanted to protect.

"I don't think you should go."

"I want to. When can I leave?"

"When you're ready."

"Trust me Grissom, it'll be fine. I'll send you postcards everyday."

----- 

"Stokes."

"I need you to do me a favour."

"Grissom?"

"You said you were going home for your vacation time,"

"Yes…"

"I need you to take a small detour."

"A small detour?"

"A relatively small detour?"

"Relatively? Relative to what?"

"Sydney."

-----

"Grissom put you up to this," Greg said, a statement as opposed to a question, knowing full well that Nick hadn't just 'decided' to take a plane to some ranch in Texas via Miami.

"Nooooo," Nick said, drawing out the word as if though it made him more convincing despite knowing that Greg could see straight through him.

"Nick…"

"Yes, but, it's only because we're worried," he lied. In all honesty he had no idea what he was doing on this plane sitting next to Greg Sanders on the way to Miami. The next time Grissom roped him in to something he would definitely ask about the reasoning.

"I'm almost 30."

Nick stared at him, almost 30? Who was he kidding, Greg was no way near 30, he'd only just… wait, maybe he was… no way

"Nick? Are you OK?"

"What? Yeh! I'm, I'm fine. It's just nothing." He stared at the chair in front, avoiding eye contact with Greg, time went so fast, where had his life gone when he wasn't looking? How could he be so old. Unmarried and alone. He closed his eyes thinking of his siblings and their cosy, happy families in their houses with their pets and their straightforward day jobs. He needed this vacation.

Greg watched as Nick lost himself in his thoughts before he turned to look out of the window as the plane left Vegas behind in a blur of bright lights and neon that you could see even through the light haze of clouds they were flying over. Miami, he'd decided would be good. A fresh start. A new life; if only for a few weeks.

-----


	2. Chapter 2

"You didn't have to-"

"Greg," Nick cut him off rather forcefully, "while I'm here, I might as well have a drink, the connecting flight doesn't take off for another few hours."

"Why are you even here?" Greg asked studiously watching a droplet of water trickle slowly down the outside of the green-glassed beer bottle before being absorbed by the label.

"I don't actually know," Nick replied honestly looking around the bar, "I like your hairstyle, it makes you look like a little teenage punk," he added nonchalantly.

Greg's head whipped back round to look at him in surprise before a bright smile spread across his face. "Thanks!" he said before getting another bottle from the bartender.

It appeared to be Karaoke night, although no one seemed to be willing to go up and sing. Nick had known the moment he'd gotten off the plane that he wouldn't like Miami at all and the bar had merely made the feeling of dislike even more intense. Everything was so superficial, why was there a karaoke night if no one did karaoke? What was wrong with all these 'beautiful' people? He looked at his watch before draining the last of his bottle and ordering another, not knowing what you were doing in a strange city full of strange people was… strange… Everyone seemed so shallow in their small clothes, with their obscure cocktails and their false tinkly laughs. His eyes paused on a few men by the stage, cops. Even in Miami you could tell them apart, sitting together with their beers, ever wary eyes scanning the room and street between conversations.

"WOAH! Greg! Why are you drinking so much?" he asked only just noticing the row of empty bottles that Greg had lined up in front of him, labels all facing the same direction.

Greg put down another empty bottle at the end of the row, "I'm starting tomorrow," he said nervously looking at Nick through dilated eyes.

"So you want to start your first day with a hangover the size of Africa? What are you so worried about? You're the best DNA tech ever."

"Awwwww, Nick, that's sweet. You're very sweet. Sweet and fluffy like a cloud, except clouds aren't sweet. Or fluffy actually. Did you know that clouds aren't even white? They just have a high visible reflect-"

Nick jumped as Greg gasped sharply, his eyes focusing on something behind him.

"Nick! Karaoke," the last word whispered so quietly that Nick almost missed it. As Greg got up and wandered towards the stage looking at the microphone slightly reverently he wondered if he should stop him from going up and doing something ridiculously embarrassing. He decided to let Greg have a bit of fun if that's what it would even be and then rescue him if he so needs it. He sighed heavily and took a gulp of the cold beer before moving closer to the stage, knowing at some point Greg would accidentally pitch himself off it.

Ryan grinned at his beer as he heard a song start up from the stage, sometimes there could never be enough tourists in Miami.

_"Just a small town girl, living in a looooooooooooonely world. She took the midnight train going aneeeeeeeeeeeewhere."_

Not too bad at singing either he noticed despite a slight slurring which suggested a rather copious amount of alcohol consumption, he turned towards the stage noticing that pretty much everyone else had too, some with some with looks of amusement and some with disgust. He rather hoped his was one of indifference but knew it was definitely amusement on his features. The singer was tall and skinny, young, blond-ish spiky hair, no more than 25 and definitely not from Miami if his tan-less-ness was anything to go by. He watched as the guy swayed happily to the music, nodding his head before launching back into the song.

_"A singer in a smoky room, A smell of wine and cheap perfume._

_For a smile they can share the night, It goes on and on and on and on."_

He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the obvious crowd pleaser, complete with hand actions and full-usage of the stage along with long drawn out lyrics. The guy should have been a rockstar, in another city though, one with crazy kids. He bit back a laugh as the guy winked at one of the bar-girls who giggled and winked back.

He found himself moving on instinct to stop him falling as the singer made a more outrageous slide across the stage and lost balance, toppling forward towards Davis. The guy gave him a huge grin before bounding back on stage in time to belt out the last part of the chorus,

_"Hiding somewhere in the niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight"_

Cheers erupted from the staff and a few of the police as the song began to conclude,

_"Don't stop belieeeeeeeeeeeving" _he sang directly at a laughing dark haired man who appeared to be recording the entire performance on his phone.

_"Hold on that feeeeeeeeeeeelayeeeying"_

The music stopped leaving Ryan with a slightly disappointed feeling at the loss of entertainment, he really needed to watch more TV.

"I know this song!" the singer piped up as the music started again.

"No you don't," the dark haired man said in a Texan accent.

"It's the one in the tunnel! I know it Nick! I do!"

"I think, its time we got going."

_"It's my life, it's now or never. I ain't gonna LIVE forever!!!"_

He watched as the Texan pulled the guy from the stage and began to lead him out, before turning back to his drink, one day, he would be brave enough to do something as ridiculous as karaoke.

"That was exciting," Davis said sarcastically.

Ryan sighed heavily, "wasn't it just?"

"They're going to pay big money for this back home," Nick chuckled tucking his phone away and slinging an arm around Greg as he walked him in the direction of the hotel, "I may even get Archie to post it on youtube."

"Can I see it? Will you send it to me too?" Greg asked excitedly looking up at Nick.

"Of course G! First thing in the morning when you can't remember what happened," Nick said with a grin.

"Hey Nick?" Greg asked suddenly sounding a lot more sober than he was.

"Yeh?" Nick replied as he helped Greg up the steps to the hotel and then towards the elevators.

Greg sighed heavily and leaned his head against the smooth, cold wall looking at Nick with sad heavy eyes, "If I were to stay behind, here, in Miami, and not go back to Vegas, would you miss me?"

Nick stilled, shocked in to silence as the doors opened and closed without them.

"Is that," Nick cleared his throat and pressed the elevator button again, "Is that what you're planning to do?"

Greg opened his eyes lazily to stare at Nick, "I'm just asking theoretically," he said before sliding into the elevator and leaning against the mirrored back, eyes still trained on Nick.

"What is this about?" Nick asked pressing the button for the third floor before turning back to Greg.

"Nothing," Greg sighed closing his eyes and slumping back further in to the wall as a heavy pounding began just above his ears.

They walked in silence to Greg's room, Nick opening the door as Greg stood sulkily against the opposite wall.

"C'mon Greg," Nick said encouragingly motioning inside the room with his hand. Greg slouched across the hallway at a slow, lazy pace, the epitome of teenage rebellion

"Don't you have a_ plane_ to catch?" Greg asked in obvious dismissal as he passed Nick. Raising his eyebrows in bemusement, Nick followed Greg into the room and sat down on one of the chairs as Greg collapsed on the bed.

"Hey Greg?"

"Yeh."

"You will come back right?"

Greg laughed, "Of course, Vegas will be in shambles without me."

"Don't I know it," Nick agreed standing up as he checked his watch, "now, as you earlier pointed out, I _do_ have a plane to catch."

He walked over to stand by the edge of the bed, "Take care G, I want you back in one piece," he said sincerely before quietly leaving the hotel room.

Greg rolled over on to his stomach as the door clicked shut and buried his head in the pillow, he probably shouldn't have drunk so much...

-----

A/N: 1. Greg seemed to channel a bit of Dr. Spencer Reid. Sorry about that. I cut him off though. D.

2. Journey's 'Don't Stop Believing', _not _a Greg Sanders song, I agree. But it's a brilliant karaoke song. Whenever I hear it, I _have_ to sing along. It's sickening.

3. -waves- Hey Ryan. I think you're pretty. hides

4. I am aware of serious OoC… but I mean frankly most fanfiction is, especially non-canon.

5. All we need now is Detective Flack… gleeful grin then manic cackle but that would be a bit too insane… I'll have to get my Flack kicks elsewhere.

6. Sorry it took so long. I forgot...


End file.
